


A Four-Letter Word

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels and demons loving each other and being dorks about it, Angst, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Is Trying (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Banter, Best Friends, Books, Bookstores, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a softie guys, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, Drinking, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Shenanigans, Epic Friendship, First Kiss, Fluff, Frustrated Crowley, Gen, Holy Water, Hugs, I Don't Even Know, Idiots in Love, Introspection, Living Together, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nicknames, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Singing, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Song: You're My Best Friend (Queen), Swearing, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21684451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: Being friends for six thousand years teaches one things.Like the fact that one friend cannot stand for the other to call him nice, or even think it.It teaches you that nothing is truly evil or truly good, at least, not in this world. We are all muddling through, doing - and faring - worse or better.And it's hard to see the truth sometimes, even when it's staring you directly in the face.Maybe it's the sunglasses.(Or, a series of scenes where Crowley and Aziraphale recognise they are important to one another, and a time one of them actually attempts to articulate something about it.)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 157





	1. Words, Words, Words

The demon Crowley is not nice. 

He tells Aziraphale this all the time. When he does ninety in the centre of London, even though he salutes the road workers as he passes. When he uses his true face to scare a travelling salesman and thump him, drop him, but off the road; lets him fall back into his vehicle. When he helps an elderly woman get across the street "--because I wanted a clear path, no body parts in the air," he protested after the angel beamed at him. When he conjured a bin fire one frigid night when nothing would start for a group of homeless blokes off Tottenham Court Road.

He says this to Aziraphale, snarls it, snaps that he isn't nice! Nice is a four-letter word! Slams the angel into a wall, shoving himself close after, manhandling-- or demon-handling? the other. Vicious, evil, foul. Thrusting his body forward, snarling, baring his teeth.

And yet Aziraphale simply watches, his eyes wide, stance absurdly calm. It's unfair. It's downright upsetting. How could he respond this way to Crowley after all their millennia together? Why not show at least a smidgen of fear, Aziraphale? To stroke his ego, to make him feel better--worse, right enough--more diabolical. Is that so difficult, angel? Truly? 

And if so, why?

***

Aziraphale knows that Crowley is kind. Decent, even. Just as he knows he isn't the nicest angel in the garrison. Or out of the garrison, as t'were. He sends the authorities away, the fire marshals, the bookbuyers… well, he obstructs them. He doesn't get rid of them. He fusses and dithers and speaks under his breath. 

But Crowley snaps aloud. Crowley is bright and glowing, darkly hissing out venom laced with sweetness. He makes Aziraphale's head spin, his mind whirl; he goes so swiftly through life, not simply in a literal nature on the road, but in every manner possible. Even now as he slams Aziraphale against the wall. 

But the angel is also aware that Crowley is reckless. Horribly reckless-- why else would he ask for a container full of holy water as insurance? For what kind of insurance would he possibly need that?? The angel has seen what holy water does to demons first-hand; it was one of the initiations for battling in Heaven and it honestly made him feel sick. Crowley would melt. But not like a candle, not drip by drip, but melt in a greasy hydraulic disaster of melting, and he would be in the most excruciating pain imaginable whilst doing so. He could also never return; it'd be a real true death for him, and the angel cannot bear the thought of that. He cannot.

He tries to say it's because he is softhearted, because he is good; but in reality the angel knows he is selfish because he cannot bear the thought of losing Crowley due to the fact that if he did, if the demon was gone, he would be alone. And so he is barely holding himself together when he gives the thermos to him, when he says "please don't do this, I got it for you", and when Crowley has the NERVE to look grateful, to be happy, to ask if there's anywhere he can drop Aziraphale, the angel almost loses it then and there. "No," he says. "No, you...go too fast for me, Crowley." And he doesn't only mean the driving, though that is terrifying. 

No. This demon is fast-living; he obviously doesn't have any regard for his own life either, since he was so focused on getting this damn-- this blasted holy water. Aziraphale looks at him, and everything in his eyes and expression causes Crowley to freeze, and then to shift sideways and lean in, but the angel is already leaving, pulling himself out of the car and disappearing into the crowded streets of Soho.

Crowley is alone.

***

Crowley puts his face on his hand, gazing at Aziraphale with his heart in his eyes even behind those glasses he wears. Every time they eat together. Well, Aziraphale eats. Crowley always buys booze, however. He simply sits there getting hammered while his angelic companion is eating. He does it partly because he doesn't want Aziraphale to eat alone, and partly because he's an alcohol connoisseur. But also, later on in their acquaintance, (especially subsequent to the relief of their renewal of speech after a hundred years) he is drinking because he says to himself 'Fuck it, maybe one day I'll get plastered enough to work up the nerve to tell him I think he's cute'.

Crowley is drinking rather heavily one evening and gets a bit worse for wear. He refuses to sober up, however, so Aziraphale must make the attempt to get him in the back of the Bentley-- whilst dithering away, of course. "Why did you drink this much, Crowley, honestly!"

Crowley slurs out "'cause I wan' y' to come home wi' me, Azzzziraphale." He drags out the angel's name, head flopping back onto the seat, and the angel scoffs.

"Don't be absurd."

"No, no I did, I do. I love you."

"Crowley, that is most definitely the alcohol talking and I must tell you that as your friend, I would appreciate if you'd stop making fun, please."

"...'M not--making fun, it's true." 

Drunk Crowley with his guard down is saying all the things he likes and loves about Aziraphale. He starts drunkenly singing "You're My Best Friend" --at an incredible volume-- as Aziraphale drives the car back to his flat. Slowly.

_Ohhhh you're the best friend that I've ever had-- I've been with you such a long time, you're my sunshine, and I want'cha to know that my feelings are true. I really love yoooouuuu! Ooh, you're my best friend!_

***

His face as Aziraphale when Gabriel snarled out "shut your stupid mouth and die already" was beyond livid. If Crowley ever said anything…

He certainly thought about it. 

The way the demons treated Crowley was more run-of-the-mill, he was disobedient, he's not important, so he's going to have an example made of him.

But the angels... Crowley gets shocked and horrified every time he learns how awful something is they have to do, but this in particular breaks his heart. His metaphorical demon heart that of course he hasn't got. So he wouldn't want to say anything about it, ever, except once Aziraphale admits with legitimate pride when they are sitting in his bookshop together "how proud I am of us, my dear. We certainly showed them!"

And Crowley tries to smile, but then groans and puts his face in his hands. "Az, I... We didn't, though. Not in the way you think. I mean, alright, as me YOU certainly did, but...." He pinches his nose and rips his sunglasses off his face, startling Aziraphale. "I never told you what they said, how the bloody angels treated you." Crowley's eyes are shut tightly, and his shoulders in that ever-present slim cut midnight suit start to shake. He lifts teary, furious eyes to the angel's. "I couldn't--I didn't want to tell you." 

"Oh, my dear," Aziraphale moves to Crowley's side, putting a hand upon his shoulder, eyes blinking rapidly in baffled horror to see his demon cry. "Was it truly so bad as all that?"

Crowley's face crumples and in a movement as sharp and fast as him slamming the other into a wall, he grabs the angel around the middle and buries his face in Aziraphale's chest, pressing himself against that waistcoat that's been out of fashion now for decades, yet it is so Aziraphale that Crowley loves it despite himself. Finds comfort in his friend's stolid lack of change. Especially now, right now. "It was bloody awful," he croaks out. "I thought only demons...talked to each other like that. Gabriel-- called you stupid. Said to shut your stupid face and die already. And everything--" the demon clutches the angel tightly as he lifts his blanched and tearful face to look into his friend's sweet eyes. Voice cracking, infinitesimal, Crowley says "Aziraphale, I'm so sorry."

Aziraphale stares, automatically wrapping his arms around his friend. A trifle slowly, feeling awkward in the face of Crowley's emotional admittance. He is not being nice here; no, there is another word the angel wants to use to describe Crowley, one he's always used in his heart of hearts, that he's never spoken for fear of it not meaning the same. 

But now, in response to the other's intense feeling, even as he cannot comprehend why those words from Gabriel could hurt Crowley so much, the angel feels warm and safe and grateful. Thinks on his dear friend's fierce words: We're on OUR side! The demon had snarled. He always believed that, from the start.

Aziraphale realises that now. He believes it too. 

He holds Crowley tightly against his chest and murmurs into his dark hair words that for decades, centuries he has wanted, ached, yearned to say: "It is all right, Crowley my love. We shall be all right together, you and I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do let me know if you'd like to read more of this piece, I am certainly not averse to continuing. 
> 
> Comments welcome <3


	2. In The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at the night in Crowley's flat

"You can stay at my place, if you like."

Those words leave Crowley's lips casually, as if no intention is behind them, no intensity; just one friend recognising a need the other has --after everything that has happened to them, averting the end of the world. 

Without any certain knowledge of what tomorrow will bring, the demon gives the angel the option to stay with him. Though they know not if it will be dark outside or light, metaphorically speaking. Will that child of humanity with power over more than what is done by angels and devils alike keep the world spinning? Or as a child will he renege upon his word the very next day?

Whatever will happen, Crowley cannot tell, but behind his sunglasses he trains his eyes hopefully upon Aziraphale.

The angel blinks and his face slowly lights up as his eyes flicker over to Crowley and away, not daring to hold too fast to hope. "I don't know if that's the most sound idea, my dear," he murmurs. "Our superiors--"

Crowley rolls his eyes. "Oh come off it, angel. We're truly on our own side now, you know."

After freezing in place and recalling Crowley's explanation about Gabriel's words, the angel nods. "I… well, yes. You're right about that, I suppose." He smooths down his waistcoat and situates his bowtie, pressing his lips together before deciding "So, yes. I shall come with you, Crowley. Thank you for inviting me." 

They drive to Crowley's flat together, and the demon holds open the door for the angel after unlatching it. "Tea?" He asks after closing the door behind them and indicating the way to the very bare kitchen. "Or something stronger?" He's certainly got that, a blackthorn cabinet full of bottles from decades and centuries past, carefully buffed and cleaned. Head cocked to one side proudly, Crowley extends a hand to Aziraphale, telling him "Pick your poison, angel."

Aziraphale blinks. "I… could indulge in alcohol, yes," he murmurs with a small smile as his eyes travel across the labels of the various and sundry bottles. "You are wily, aren't you, tempting me like this."

The demon smirks a little, even as his eyes behind the glasses are slightly concerned. "If you don't want," he starts.

But the angel leans in and presses Crowley's thinly muscled arm, smiling in such a sincere manner, eyes crinkling at the outer edges as he assures "It's all right, truly. I'm… glad to let you tempt me, my dear."

A blush rises on the angel's cheeks as the demon's brows rise. He softens, long fingers reaching out and curling over Aziraphale's fingers. "Oh, how the tables have turned," he clicks his tongue cheekily. "I distinctly recall the time you offered to tempt ME to an oyster."

"Ah," the angel stutters a bit. "In-- that was in Rome, wasn't it?"

Crowley shoves the angel's shoulder playfully. "Ahhh come now, angel, you know exactly when it was!" He gets excited by Aziraphale's chosen vintage "An excellent choice," and brings two glasses over to the low black couch he owns. One of the few accessories in his minimalist abode. Along with his bed, which he'd worked long and hard to find, as he slept in it for nearly a century straight--he needed a most excellent bed for such an intensive endeavor.

His smile falters a bit as his hands do upon the decanter of alcohol in preparation of pouring some for Aziraphale. The clear liquid makes him recall another sort.

*** 

That ruddy holy water that had created a century-long rift. Crowley still doesn't fully understand every implication in Aziraphale's mind about his use of and need for the holy water (and it's a lucky thing, perhaps, he hadn't heard of Crowley cashing in on the insurance, so to speak, with Hastur and Ligur). But he does know that it had sorely upset his angel to think on the possibility of Crowley intentionally --or accidentally-- ending his own existence with said substance. And Crowley hadn't exactly eased his friend's mind by saying anything to the contrary, such as _"of course I'm not using this to kill myself, don't be stupid,"_ or anything like that. No, he'd just bloody let the other think what he wanted, and went off in a huff. 

_"... If anyone found out we were--fraternising."_

_"Fraternising?!?"_

__

__

__

__

_"Yes, well, I've got plenty of other people to --to fraternise with!"_

_"So've I!"_

____

____

_"Right then."_

____

____

____

____

_"Right!"_

____

____

___Crowley studies Aziraphale now, and his hand shakes badly enough that liquor would spill all over his flat's floor if the angel hadn't taken his hand and finished pouring. "Oh! Dear," Aziraphale dithers. "There we are." He pours and caps the container, shifting to smile a trifle hesitantly at Crowley. Sensing the other being is discomfited at the least and trying to discern his state of mind, "Crowley," he speaks slowly. "Are you all right?"_ _ _

___Crowley chokes, and nods, and gulps his drink before throwing caution to the winds and unfurling his wings. He flicks his eyes as the angel drinks as well and coughs before putting his own glass down. Swallowing hard, "Aziraphale," says the demon softly. His wings, appearing as dark as if they were cut and fashioned from the fabric of the universe, flutter a bit as he shifts closer to his friend. Takes a deep breath. "--I'm glad you're here," is all that is said, and his arms extend. Hands wrap around the angel's plump middle, holding him close and strong and secure. Wings wrapping round, sheltering the angel, sheltering them both.___

___Aziraphale smiles, crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening as he begins relaxing into his friend's embrace, as unexpected as it is. Crowley could never be considered cuddly, but the angel can tell, can sense the demon needs this nearness in this particular moment. So Aziraphale shifts himself to lean into Crowley's chest, wrapping his own arms around the other being and holding him close. Beaming. "I'm glad I am here too, my dear," he murmurs._ _ _

___Something within the demon relaxes and uncoils at that, and he holds Aziraphale close, practically falling asleep on him as they remain on the sofa together. Aziraphale just beams some more and snuggles up to his demon, wrapping him in both arms for the remainder of the night.__ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to all the support, I've written more about these two lovely beings. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	3. Flatshare For Now

Neither being knows who suggests the move; Crowley mentioned how sparse his flat is (either that or Aziraphale did "Nothing wrong with a bit of materialism, dear. We are amongst humanity, after all". 

"...Are you telling me you're advocating for being a material girl in a material world?" Snickers Crowley. He is met with a slightly confounded expression before receiving a clap on the shoulder.

"You can be whatever you'd like to be, Crowley," the angel says sincerely.

"Well," the demon huffed. "Clearly I am not Madonna.")

Whatsoever the case, due to previous occurrences within the vicinities of each of their abodes, the pair decides to find a new habitat. They end up in London. Near Southwark, and the banks of the Thames, which they share a chuckle over upon first spotting the space for rent above what ages ago was a butcher shop. "Ghastly places, especially in the sixteenth century," Aziraphale shudders. "Do you remember, Crowley?"

Eyebrows rising, "Oh yes, like it was yesterday," he quips drily. "Bloody good meats." As Aziraphale glares at him, Crowley's cheekiness falters. "But, it'd be good to, erm. Bat away the bad energy, so to speak, with your books." The demon clears his throat and rocks back on his heels to survey the little shop, tipping his chin up. "Yes, this will do nicely, I should think."

"For what?" The angel inquires, his curiousity piqued. 

"Your shop, of course. And a flat upstairs for us." Crowley lifts a finger towards the ceiling and then gags. "Of course I don't mean Upstairs, bloody Nora, no. I just meant--"

"I know what you meant," Aziraphale's entire countenance lights up as he presses Crowley's closer hand. "And it's a lovely idea, Crowley."

The demon's own features relax. "Really?" He tries to act nonchalant. "I mean, really now, Aziraphale, can you stand moving ALL your books over here?"

The angel is not fooled by attempted banter. His eyes crinkle with gladness as, flushing at his own daring, he reaches up to pat Crowley on the cheek. "Really, my dear."

***

And so they move in together to a flat above the bookshop. Crowley decorates the flat in dark tones, akin to his previous monochromatic style. Aziraphale comes in and taps his fingers upon his lips, humming a bit. "Hm, maybe...we ought to give it a bit more colour, dear." 

Crowley glares at a plant (all the specimens he brought from his old flat with threats to their lives if any now ceased or refused to grow in changed quarters) until it blossoms with a flower. He gives the angel a smug, self-satisfied look. "Ta-da, angel!"

Aziraphale sighs. "Please don't frighten ALL our plants."

Crowley later starts prowling around the bookshop instead, murmuring to and scaring the books until Aziraphale accosts him, hands on hips and eyebrows rising. "My dear demon, what ARE you doing?"

Crowley jumps guiltily, sniffing and leaning one elbow on the edge of a shelf. "Erm. Keeping the books tidy, and making certain there are nO MORE FIRES IN HERE."

"Oh Crowley, that happened just the once, and only because I frightened Mr Shadwell when I communicated with Heaven."

"You-- well I had to witness the aftermath, Aziraphale," Crowley's eyes have filled with recalled agony now even as he tries to draw himself up and swallow the remembered pain. The billowing smoke, thick, oily, opaque; the horrid spiky-looking shadows, and those flames, burning to ash words worth as much as the library of Alexandria; no, more, because they meant so much to Aziraphale. And he was, had been seemingly gone. Crowley thought he'd lost his best friend forever. "And. Well. I just think they ought to know that I'll be watching them. Very closely." Stepping away from the shelf and closer to Aziraphale, the demon continues "...These books are important to you, so they're important to me. I'm not letting anything happen to them." Anything else, he meant. Not again.

Aziraphale's face grows softer even than it had been, and crinkles smooth from his skin as his eyes widen with understanding. He presses his hands together, feeling a warmth blossom within his chest as he sees and hears and feels how _sincere_ Crowley is; he wants to keep his mate's books safe. His life safe, because that is what these tomes are, what they represent.

***

Thus Crowley begins a severe tongue-lashing campaign to Aziraphale's books. Aziraphale counters this by saying nice things to Crowley's plants behind his back. Crowley enters the flat to hear this one afternoon and is outwardly furious (but secretly charmed).

"Now don't you worry your sweet little leaves, Crowley does love you, really." Aziraphale sprays a gentle mist over the plants as he coos quietly to them.

"Angel, what are you saying to my plants?" Crowley cries.

"Only the truth," the other says warmly.

Crowley feels his heart pounding, chest rising up; he feels narrow, single-minded, and suddenly his muscles are leaner, body ridged and a bit slick with scales as he goes into affronted snake mode and lunges, snapping at Aziraphale's mister and sinking his fangs through it before spitting it out and slithering back downstairs. Instantly the sounds of shrieking and thumps show that he is hiding in the bookshelves and scaring away customers.

Aziraphale rushes after him (subsequent to cleaning up the punctured mister and closing their flat door--he is still an angelic being, after all.) "Oh don't be like that, Crowley, I am sorry."

"You told my plantssss I loved them!" Snake Crowley is hissing his way along bookshelves, cue customers screaming and one fainting in fright as Aziraphale tries to placate them and catch his giant snake demon at the same time.

"Please don't be alarmed, oh dear-- he won't hurt you! Honestly! Oh, mind the Dickens--" there is an enormous crash of bookshelves falling, their contents flying hither and yon, and Aziraphale shrieks, in actual frustration at this juncture. Why won't his demon TALK to him? "Right," he spreads his arms, leaping in front of Crowley's darkly-scaled form, blocking his way. 

"Mmmove, angel," hisses the serpent.

Aziraphale's heart bumps, but he stands his ground. He's never been frightened by Crowley before, and isn't going to start now. "No!" He shouted. "Honestly, what in, well, under the heavens are you running from? Tell me, explain to me what I don't understand. Come now, enlighten me." The snake shakes his head. "--Well. So you are aware, what I don't understand is why this is all such a--a massive inconvenient issue for you, Crowley! Your plants surely should know that you appreciate and love them!"

"Oh hang it all--" another bookshelf tips and slams to the floor with a thud as the snake's tail flicks, rising, and Crowley is back once again in human form, glowering. Chest heaving. Aziraphale stands before him, arms folded. Angry but unfazed. Always and forever unfazed, as he is whenever the demon slams him into a wall. It's bloody infuriating. Crowley now blurts "It's not that I don't love and appreciate them, but I tell them in my own way! Just like I do love you--!" and then he stops. Freezes. 

There is silence in the shop, save for the last departing customers biting back more screaming. It's a tad disconcerting to see a gigantic snake slithering through the shelves, bordering on downright terrifying--and then to witness said snake turn into a person, well. Hopefully it isn't TOO terribly much for them, not after the thwarting of Armageddon. Perhaps he ought to actually allow them to buy books next time they come, Aziraphale frets. If they return another time.

Crowley isn't noticing the humans' horror or thinking about anyone's return. His mind is going into overdrive as Aziraphale stares at him. He loves this impossible, ineffable being with the whole of himself. Only he hadn't ever said the word. Hadn't articulated the sentiment aloud before. Not whilst sober, anyway.

Well, he's gone and done it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and now I've stopped unless you'd like me to go on. Please let me know, and thanks for reading. EDIT: there will be at least one more chapter now :)
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	4. Here You Are, Since The First

Aziraphale stands stunned in the centre of the floor of his bookshop. He feels as though his wings may burst into being and view to carry him up and up into the air. Not to Heaven, however, because nothing there can possibly compare to the way he is feeling here and now, existing--truly _living_ \--on Earth, with Crowley. It is the most wonderful feeling, magnified by the largest number possible, it seems, after the words the demon spake just now. The angel feels as though his smile could split his face in two, not just in that colourful idiom form and fashion Crowley used, but legitimately so. It's almost painful how much it stretches, but Crowley sees naught, as the demon had pushed his fingers through his hair, uttered "Right then," and "I'm going, I'm off. Just-- don't wait up," before exiting the door, bells tinkling and waving in his wake.

Aziraphale hadn't responded fast enough.

Dear oh dear, the angel fretted. Why hadn't he said something? He called Crowley his love, of course, but that had been during an attempt to comfort the demon, and clearly he hadn't taken it as anything else, hadn't recognised the intended meaning of Aziraphale's affectionate epithets. Clearly he hadn't shown his dear demon enough love.

He was so used to hiding his feelings for Crowley, or trying to. Every moment they were together, his mission had been not to show the other how much he loved him. How in love he was with him, for angels feel affection for all things, or are supposed to, per God's mandate. Yet upon his first sight of Crowley, slithering into human form at the edge of the Garden, Aziraphale had been lost.

_"Well THAT went down like a lead balloon."_

_"I beg your pardon?"_

That wry, rich tone of voice pouring from a thin form that had been darkly scaled mere moments before, with a sharp-featured face and luminous golden-yellow eyes.... 

Aziraphale blinks rapidly in remembrance of the initial lurch of what he expected to be fear or distaste upon viewing Crowley (Crawly back then, demonic names were so unimaginative. Poor dears, no wonder they were so miserable, with monikers like that), but which had been neither of those emotions; no, far from them. He felt a warmth within his chest, a leap from his heart, and then cold dread as what kind of angel was he to so completely fall, especially after having given away his requisitioned weapon to a human being? An expecting human being, but the eater of the Fruit of Knowledge nonetheless. Fall not as the demons had, perhaps; not like Satan, but he'd fallen another way, as surely as had they. 

And he'd never known what he should or ought to do about it, not until this very moment. 

"Crowley!"

***

Crowley knows that he cocked up. Well, as much as a demon can when making an effort-- what in hell-- what had possessed him to blurt out his feelings like that, anyhow? Sure, he'd blathered about it when intoxicated, but that could surely have been a load of bollocks, Aziraphale even said so in his exceedingly polite manner. Frustrating as all heaven, honestly-- at least other demons knew he despised them, and vice versa. It'd be a funny old world if demons went round trusting (or liking) each other. 

Still, they weren't supposed to like angels either, the demon reflects, hand shaking so badly he cannot withdraw from their pocket his car keys. And so for the first time since he got her, he forgoes driving away in his machine of a dream and chooses to walk instead. More like his feet stride onward down the sidewalk of their own accord, and Crowley has no choice but to head on, following them.

He isn't consciously registering where he is going. The sight of humans seemingly going autopilot whilst focusing on other things has always fascinated Crowley. Seemed like a minor miracle. Or perhaps a wile, as people cause all sorts of problems in such states--otherwise occupied pedestrians are some of the biggest banes of drivers, for instance. And yet as Crowley often tried to explain, or at the very least wanted to, this was all the humans' doing by themselves. No demonic nudges needed. They have chosen of their own accord to create ridiculous technology that keeps their minds occupied and eyes off the road. 

Crowley wishes he could keep his mind occupied with other things besides the frustration and horror he feels for blurting out his, well, feelings. Feelings that have been infuriatingly present almost since he met Aziraphale, heard what he'd done for humanity by giving them protection. 

_"So I told them 'here it is, don't bother to thank me', only that it would probably be best if they left and didn't return-- it's, well, it will be getting dark soon, she's already expecting, and there are wild animals!"_

Dearest thoughtful, dithering Aziraphale. 

Crowley had joked about the pair of them doing the opposite of what they intended, even as he had-- to his irritation and personal chagrin, he'd gone and gotten feelings for an angel, felt them inside his dastardly demon heart; and they'd just grown stronger every century, every moment-- enough so that at last he'd blurted them out and made an absolute fool of himself. Grand. 

Of course as he thinks that, now is when he hears "Crowley!" And as the demon composes his face and turns, up comes the portly angel, huffing and puffing and loosening his cravat and tie as though he's honestly winded. 

"You'll stain your suit," the demon blurts out, as the angel had run through the street where dirt is kicked up. "--with mud, if not sweat. Honestly, Aziraphale, what--?" He cannot finish before 

"I love you, Crowley," the angel gasps. "I always have, and I--well I followed you on foot just now because you didn't take your car, which is unusual, more than unusual. I know how you adore that metallic behemoth." Crowley almost rolls his eyes at the angel's latter words, but is arrested by the former ones.

"You--" he stares at the other being. Aziraphale presses his lips together and then nods, unable to stop a smile from lifting his full cheeks. 

"Yes," he breathes, stepping closer and taking Crowley's hands in a squeeze. "Since the moment we met, honestly." A slight wrinkle appears in his brow as he adds "I didn't realise, and once I did, tried so hard not to show it. For surely, I thought it would be," 

"Wrong," Crowley continues, nodding. The angel lowers his face, bites his lip. "In the way that'd be wrong for both of us, but honestly angel, I don't care." Relinquishing one of Aziraphale's hands, his own long hand shaking only slightly, the demon Crowley --with the sibilance of the serpent he once was-- takes hold of Aziraphale's chin and cheek, lifting his friend's face and leaning in. "I'm so bloody glad you feel the same," he whispers. "I got so tired of hiding." 

Aziraphale smiles again, free hand rising and curling around Crowley's. "But you've done a stellar job, particularly with those sunglasses, my dear," he murmurs back. 

"Oh, you cheeky bastard," Crowley's laugh is a breath and after lifting and removing those ever-present sunglasses and inquiring with his eyes, he comes in the rest of the way to press his lips against Aziraphale's. The angel's body jerks. It is such a sweet kiss, a press of lips that Crowley almost instantly withdraws when he feels tenseness in the body of his friend. 

But as his lips break apart from the angel's, Aziraphale says "You are so sweet," without the slightest trace of irony or teasing. "My darling demon." Flushing at his own daring, he tugs Crowley in for a second kiss, and as the demon's lips quirk up when touching his, as his own hands haul and hold the other close, he knows they are and shall remain intertwined. Hearts and all, for as long as they are here on Earth. 

They are on their own side indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it for now, I love this sweet pair. They're so ridiculous together, in the best way XD
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this, I appreciate all comments and kudos. Do let me know if you'd like to see anything else about these two. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, masters of the craft. 
> 
> To Michael Sheen and David Tennant for their fantastic portrayals of a pair of iconic characters, and to my friends who talk with me about (and got me to watch!) Good Omens.
> 
> I was incredibly skeptical of the show as a long-time book fan. I say fan as in, a true fanatic who has gone through two copies of the book and am on my third because they've fallen apart after being read so much. With that being said, I was absolutely blown away by the quality of the show and remain heartily invested in Crowley and Aziraphale. Thus, I wrote this little piece.
> 
> Comments welcome <3


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